I recently mentioned
that we held my mother’s memorial service on March 16. At the lunch afterwards,
I reminisced with my brothers and cousins. Unfortunately, we are all getting older and our
memories are fading. And the day will come when none of us will be around to pass on stories about our parents' and grandparents' lives and our own experiences.

That’s why I’m grateful
that both of my parents wrote their memoirs.

As I mentioned in my
January 4, 2016 post, Mama wrote for her family. Mama’s memoir is an easy read
written so her children and grandchildren would understand what it was like
growing up on a farm in the 1920s and 30s. She also wrote some shorter pieces
about her life after the farm, although she left most of that to Daddy.

Daddy’s memoir is
different. He wrote partly for his family, but he also had a broader audience
in mind. He never tried to get his manuscript published, but that may have been
his original goal.

In my opinion, Daddy
wrote two memoirs and wove them together in one manuscript. One tells about the
interesting things that happened to him (and us) during his adult years. I can
see extracting and editing those portions into a book for a popular audience—if
I ever find the time. The other one is an academic commentary on political,
social, and geographical conditions in the Middle East, with some side comments
on the United Presbyterian Church and its predecessors and successors. That’s
the book Daddy was probably most interested in, but I find it rather dry
reading. I’ll leave it to one of my brothers to edit that one—if they find the
time.

Even if we don’t find the
time, though, my parents’ memories have been written down and scanned, so they
won’t be lost to their descendants.